


Changes in the Family.

by Strangecat_Ramsey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Family Drama, Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangecat_Ramsey/pseuds/Strangecat_Ramsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>Sherlock and Mycroft's dad is a surprisingly normal ex police officer. After being shot in the leg, he is forced to move in with Mycroft.</p>
<p>Holmes Sr rejects all the eminently qualified health care workers Mycroft tries to hire for him until Greg Lestrade comes along. Mycroft is prepared to despise him, but to his own surprise he falls heads over heels in love with him instead.</p>
<p>Greg is clueless, Sherlock is despairing, and Mycroft is a besotted idiot.<br/>(Frasier Story line)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1:Changes.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd  
> Gratuitous use of random characters.

Mycroft remembers his heart sinking low in his gut. The call he’d received …that he’d dreaded receiving from the moment he realized the danger his father was in when he was a kid, every single moment he walked out the door to do his job .He remembers the feeling of time slowing down, watching his hand release his pen, on its own violation. The dull thud of it hitting his own high quality watermarked paper. 

He remembers hearing without listening, breathing without gaining air. He remembers standing without meaning to, and running when he had meant to walk. His father had been shot. Gunned down. A year from retirement. A year until Mycroft could have slept in his bed for the first night knowing that his Father would finally be safe.

He remembers the long night of him sitting in the waiting room, Anthea having brought him some cheap tea in a plastic cup and gone back to work to organize compassionate leave. He remembers his brother appearing halfway through the long night, finally clean from his addiction, looking as worried as Mycroft if not more. He remembers Sherlock sitting beside him for the rest of the evening, head resting on his shoulder, dozing after having stolen the rest of his cold tea. 

He remembers the Doctor walking in through the door from surgery. Their life’s changing with the words “He’s alive. But still in critical condition.” and “We managed to save his leg. But the damage was extensive”

He remembers seeing the strong, bulldog of a man his father was, in a hospital bed, looking so small and vulnerable beneath tubes and tape. He remembers the angry look on his father’s face as he realized what his life was about to become. No longer a cop doing his job, self-sufficient. But an old retired man, mooching off his sons. Because before any of it was said, they all realized that he’d never be able to go back to living on his own.

Mycroft remembers thinking he’d never see the light in his father’s eye’s again, or see him laugh and smile when he sees that anger. Mycroft remembers feeling a hard icy pang of hurt spear through his heart when Sherlock manages to sneak Gladstone into the hospital and he sees his father manage a smile for his dog but not for him. 

Mycroft remembers the second sinking feeling in his gut as he realises that his father is about to move in with him. Realizes that he’s about to have a grunting, drooling, grumpy dog move into his clean, pristine, immaculately kept, Classically decorated London home. And worse, he realizes that the recliner. The ugly, threadbare, held together with duct-tape recliner was about to become part of his decor. 

He remembers the bitter taste at the back of his throat when he realizes that he envy’s Sherlock and John for not having space for their Father. The guilt of having such thoughts so soon after nearly having lost him.

He remembers the first day his father had moved in, the glare he’d received at trying to help his father carry a bag, the hard thwack to the back of his thigh with his father’s new cane from his father’s passive aggressive approach to warning him off treating him like an old codger. 

The third time he feels his heart sink into his gut was when he’d returned back from work after a late night to find his father collapsed on the kitchen floor with Gladstone baying for help beside his old man who’d been lying on the floor since breakfast unable to call for help. 

He remembers the discussion back at the hospital with his father, discussing the need to hire a live in assistant to his father, even half-heatedly joking at every Holmes man needs an assistant. He had Anthea, Sherlock had John. It made sense that his father would need an assistant. His father gives him a tongue lashing worthy of his first attempt to steel his father’s police badge. All Mycroft can be glad for is the fact that his father didn’t have his cane within reach.

He remembers the battle of wills. His father 10 times more stubborn than he could ever hope to be! Admittedly the first ‘assistant’. Was a bit of a drill-sergeant. And frankly, not even he liked her. Treating his father with as much respect as the dog. The second was unfortunate. Not to mention after 1 talk with Sherlock deducing her to bare bone, they had never seen her again. The others were no better. The combination of Sherlock and Siger ganging up on each nurse in turn was beginning to ware thin. Didn’t they understand that he was just trying to help dammit! He didn’t want to be the bad guy.

He remembers the utter feeling of desperation after the seventh ‘assistant’ left in a hurry. Feeling so utterly lost and at the final thread. Sitting outside his favourite local coffee house, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him, cigarette between his fingers worrying his lip trying to work out a solution. He’d done everything he could. He’d been through every single qualified person he could find. 

Now he was left with a stab in the dark. Placing an advert in the paper had grated on his very soul! Surely the man that WAS the British government could have found an assistant without resorting to such pedestrian means as the paper. His only consolation had been that he could run security checks on all the candidates.

The meetings had not gone well. 20 Candidates had applied and 19 of them had been rejected. Siger had made it clear that he had to like the assistant or there would be no assistant. The 20th… The 20th had been late. He’d shown up half an hour late. Mycroft was already removing marks before the man had even greeted them.

He’d given Mycroft the per functionary hello, sorry he was late before turning to Siger and spending a good 15 minuets of them actually talking. Mycroft was determined to get rid of this … whatever it was that Gregory Lestrade had considered himself. He tried ending the conversation, telling his father from behind Gregory Lestrade that this man was the wrong man for them. But Siger ignored him. Talking to this man who fancied himself qualified enough to look after a Holmes man.

Gregory Lestrade , a policeman turn occupational therapist. Now with a pending divorce. His career on a downward tumble owing to some scandal (involving Sherlock, of which he wasn’t to certain of, his brother was remaining mute on the subject) He’d only allowed the interview (for which Lestrade had turned up late!) owing to the fact that Gregory had excellent qualifications and experience with Policeman having been one himself for a number of years. 

He remembered hearing Sigers clear often times hard voice stating that Greg was hired and when he could start. Mycroft had spluttered practically growling that Greg wasn’t what he had been looking for in an assistant. Greg had stood up, staring between father and son as they were caught in a glaring contest, before Mycroft had found himself being stared down by the two men. 

Well shit. Who else was there really. But the part that had should have had him kicking Greg out of the house was when Greg had asked when he could move his things in. THAT had not been part of the deal. But the moment he opened his mouth to argue, Siger had stood up, stating that he could move in ASAP, that he could have the guest room beside Mycrofts, before warning him with his blue icy gaze not to push it with Greg, before hobbling off toward his own downstairs bedroom putting an end to the conversation.

Mycroft didn’t have a choice. He stared at Greg so helplessly, feeling so lost and defeated that it must have shown on his face. Greg stared at him as if assessing him before bending down to scratch Gladstone behind the ear, the dumb dog obviously appreciating it, before moving toward Mycroft and putting a firm comforting hand on his elbow, making a point to stare him in the eye. “Everything will be alright with your Father Mr Holmes.” 

Mycroft wanted to believe it, he really did. Maybe having Greg here wasn’t going to be so bad after all. No matter how much he despised having the decision removed from his hand. He really wanted to hate Greg. But for some unknown reason, all he could think of was the hand on his elbow..


	2. Chapter 2.Difficulties.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is having difficulty dealing with his house guests. Siger doesn't know how to deal with it either

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

Mycroft had always been a fan of musing. He loved to sit in his chair and think of anything and everything that popped into his head. In these, his darkest hours it was his only solitude. His life had been falling apart for months now. He’d gone from being one of the most desirable bachelor’s living in a very nice home, in the best part of London. To this!

His little brother and he finally getting on…well as much as would be expected. There constant petty fighting would always be part of who they were. With their father living with him now, there squabbling for an ounce of their fathers affections had increased 10 fold, (Siger was too tough for such things after all.)though the intensity of their earlier fights had at least dimmed. 

Thank god John Watson had saved him from the fairly abusive marriage to James Moriarty. A major source of their fights in the past. Mycroft had warned Sherlock against Moriarty. Explained to him how he’d practically changed Sherlock into a twitching, worried little dog. Coming when called, allowing himself (Which was Not Sherlock at all), to be belittled and used. Though Sherlock would never have admitted it to anyone, it may have been one of the reasons for the beginning of his addiction. 

His life had been on the decline. His 4 bedroom home, reduced from 3 spare rooms to 1 tiny spare room he could use as his study. His expensively decorated sitting room reduced to 100’s and 1000’s of pounds worth of antique furniture and a recliner that looked like it had its own personal space on the muppet show. His refrigerator now had the best food in all of London, and at least 4, 6 pack’s of an ale that he swore only his father could stomach. And a dog. A Dog that he had never wanted. Never liked, and who reciprocated the feeling. Sitting in his chair, been glared at by the dog while he was trying to muse just took that away from him as well.

But out of all of that. Out of everything that had gone wrong in his life, there was one tiny shimmering light. Gregory Lestrade. If anything he’d been more help that Mycroft had anticipated. Even making sure to cook them palatable meals…for the most part. Mycroft still didn’t have the heart to eat a burger that looked like it could glide around his plate for the amount of fat on it. But Siger was absolutely loving it.

Mycroft supposed he should have expected Gregory to try for something lean and healthy, but the Holmes men were all tall and imposing men in their figures. Probably just the wrong side of thing. Sherlock had inherited his figure from his father, whereas Mycroft though so very much like them, had inherited his weight gain gene from his mother. Not that it was terribly bad. It had been as a child. But now he was able to control it with minimal effort on his part.

The first day of Gregory moving in, Mycroft had been worried all day. He had let a stranger into his home. To look after his father. A man that had come off the street non the less! A divorcee with very little too loose in life. It was his job to look after his old man and he had left him with a possible Serial killer. True he would have deduced him to be one, but Mycroft was willing to overlook his own abilities for the safety of his father.

He returned home early. Having made an excuse that he needed to check on how the new nanny was fairing. As he walked through the door however his worst fears had been confirmed as he had heard his fathers shouting from his bedroom. The sound of Gladstones barking making his heart sink right to his shoes as he dropped his umbrella and briefcase haphazardly to the ground and ran to his fathers room, opening the door with as much speed as he was capable and stopping dead, his face pale and drawn as he stared down at the scene before him realizing what an utter idiot he’d been.

Siger was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling with a pained grimace on his face, clutching onto the leg of the bed as if it was his only support. Sitting over him and to the side, pushing Sigers bent leg to the side was Greg staring up at him his look going from confused and worried to amused. “Good evening Mr.Holmes. Just helping your father with his early evening exercised.“ Greg stated as if it weren’t THAT obvious!

“Nightly torture is more fucking likely” Siger growled, letting out a grunt of pain as his leg was placed back to a normal position. Gladstone sitting on the bed looking down at his master with concern, letting out a whimper, staring pointedly at Greg. Mycroft didn’t know who to glare at first. Greg for being obtuse, Siger for swearing or Gladstone for drooling on his linens.

“Sherlock and John will be joining us for dinner this evening. I have ordered dinner to be delivered for 7 this evening. I suppose it would be our first dinner together as a family “ trying to hide the irritation in his voice, trying to make his father feel at home.

“Can’t do it. Meeting Detective Super intendant Boyle at the pub for drinks at 7.” Siger answered standing up with a groan, grabbing his cane and limping off to the bathroom, followed by Gladstone.

Mycroft stood for a moment his face blank, fighting to hide his emotion. Feeling disappointed and hurt at the same moment. But refusing to acknowledge it, though his clenched jaw probably showed his frustration. Ignoring the look from Gregory that seemed to read his feelings even though he didn’t show any. “Dinner will be served in the Dining room at 7 Mr.Lestrade. Please feel free to join us.”

Dinner had been slightly awkward. Sherlock clearly blamed Mycroft for their fathers nonappearance at dinner. Obviously something that Mycroft had done. The problem was that he couldn’t work out what he had done if anything. The tension was definitely there. John and Greg did get on like a house on fire. For which Mycroft was grateful.

After dinner John and Sherlock had left with a few parting shots. The house quiet, Greg having gone to his room. Mycroft had walked into the kitchen trying not to feel upset, pulling over the plate of food he’d ordered specifically knowing his father would enjoy it. Removing the blue rare now cold steak from its packaging, placing it onto the plate, followed by a heap of specially ordered fries, coleslaw and a small bottle of his father’s favourite whiskey. Staring down at the plate with a small amount of loathing, carefully placing it in a tray and leaving it on the kitchen table where he was sure that it would be seen when his father finally returned home.

“Siger’s having a difficult time coping with everything Mr Holmes. Just be patient.” Greg had managed to walk into the kitchen without Mycroft having noticed, causing him to jump rather than remain cool.

“I am trying Mr.Lestrade. We haven’t really had the most open of relationships.” Mycroft answered, cursing himself for opening up to a man he barely knew. Something about Greg made him want to open up.

“He’s had his life taken from him. He’s had him home taken from him. He’s no longer independent. He’s been forced to live with a son he barely knows. You’ll work something out. Perhaps try dinner again? If he says he’s meeting someone for drinks at 7. Offer to have dinner earlier or later. Let him know he’s welcome?” Greg suggested moving over to stand beside Mycroft at the counter.

“And what about My life Mr.Lestrade?” Mycroft snapped immediately regretting it, taking a deep breath before heading toward the door, trying to ignore the pang of regret at the forcing himself to move away from Greg. Wanting to stay and talk to him. That in itself scared him. He wasn’t supposed to want to talk to people. 

“Mycroft. You aren’t alone in this. Just remember that.” Greg walked past him, patting him on the shoulder as Mycroft froze at the sound of his name, ignoring the heat pooling in his chest at hearing his given name from Greg’s lips. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t want to know this man who’d been forced into his life.


	3. Chapter 3. Dinner and Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with Holmes Snr. might be difficult, but it has its moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

It had been 3 months since the disastrous dinner that had still plagued Mycroft’s mood’s whenever it might be mentioned that there was a dinner to be had between family. Much to Mycroft’s chagrin, Siger Holmes had no trouble going over to Baker street to have dinner with Sherlock. As a matter of fact it had become a weekly ritual. As long as Sherlock wasn’t on a case, Siger would go through to Baker street on a Wednesday to have dinner. 

Of course it might be because Mrs.Hudson spent most of her time doting on the man. He would of course shudder when his mind took that turn. Siger Holmes still mourned for Violet Holmes of course. He missed her, and it had been practically illegal to even mention her name in his presence ever since the funeral. Siger obviously tolerated Mrs.Hudson and that was all. At least he prayed it was because he could frankly not stand the woman . Probably one of the reasons why Sherlock chose to live at Bakers Street.

Mycroft had always felt like the odd one out of the trio of Holmes men. Siger the seasoned Policeman would of course always be more comfortable amongst Sherlock who had made himself a name as a consulting detective. It wasn’t as if Mycroft was the British Government or something like that. Really he didn’t need the acclaim or recognition from his father.

One interesting thing however had come of Wednesday nights at Baker street. Mycroft usually worked late nights during the week and had only once had time to have dinner at Baker street with his brother, the better half and his father. During that time he had tried to ignore the pang of envy as John told Siger the details of their latest case, Sigers laughter floating around the room, making Mycroft feel even worse.

Every other Wednesday however he would arrive after 9 and find a plate of food waiting for him. The first day he had been curious about it, and had found Greg waiting for him in the sitting room, watching the telly. For reasons not even he could explain to himself ,even though he spent hours thinking on it, he’d asked Greg if he’d eaten yet, and would he mind keeping Mycroft company?

Greg had stared at him surprised at first, not expecting that at all. Mycroft had a mind to ask him to forget it, but the way his heart lept with joy when Greg stood up and went through to the kitchen had been worth it. He ignored the clean soap smell coming off Greg as he walked by, trying not to look like he’d been floating after Greg with his nose, rather clumsily sitting down in his chair with wobbly legs, glad that Greg had his back turned.

Greg had already eaten, but had happily sat retrieved some ice cream from the freezer while Mycroft started on his dinner, sitting opposite him while making small talk. Things like the weather, the traffic , perhaps a few words about the royals. Greg surprised to find that Mycroft actually did follow sports. Purely for statistical reasons really. Not to mention the fact that it there was a sports page in every newspaper that Mycroft read.But it had left a warm feeling in Mycrofts chest at being able to discuss such things with Greg.

During Dinner Mycroft took the opportunity to take Greg in better than he had before, finally really alone with the man, he had been able to watch the way his mouth formed words, his perfectly lined lips rounding so beautifully around certain letters,or smacking together at others. The way his nostrils gently widened at every breath, or the way his adams apple bobbed just above his collar line every time he swallowed. 

He got immersed in the mixed smells of sweet cherry frozen yogurt and that clean soap smell again, no longer really listening to Greg so much as the melodious sound of his oh so sensuous voice. Each pronounced word almost lulling him to lean closer and closer forward. The back of his mind screaming at him to behave! That this was the help for goodness sake.

Mycroft had been so immersed in their conversation that he hadn’t heard the kitchen door open and the sound of his Father’s voice arguing with Sherlock that he didn’t need a baby sitter he already had a god damned nanny! Sherlock arguing back that the nanny wasn’t able to save him if he had slipped on the side walk.

Greg had gotten up long before Mycroft had even registered voices. His cheeks flushed, with a gushy kind of look on his face that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Only realizing that Sherlock and Siger were in the room when everything suddenly went quiet. Greg was looking at him concerned, his brother’s eyes were narrowed at him, his father’s eyebrow was raised far beyond its normal place.

Siger seemed to catch himself first, hobbling off toward the exit to his room, moving much faster than he normally would have, only to have Gregs voice catching him, obviously non the wiser about what had just happened. 

“Oh no you don’t Siger! I see that you’re limping badly. Lets draw a bath with some of my smelly bath salts. Should help with the leg.” Greg ordered walking off with a sideways grin at the brothers, rolling his eyes jokingly as Siger answered.

“Do I look like a fucking toff to you? They’ll laugh me out of the pub if they get a wiff of me!”

As soon as Greg was out of the room and hearing distance Sherlock started “Oh my … You like Lestrade?!!!”

Mycroft growled at him glaring. “Not at all. We were having dinner together. Do try not to deduce me little brother. I thought you had a boyfriend for that”

Sherlock grimaced glaring at the door Greg had exited through pulling up his nose. “WRONG! That’s all there is! I cant believe you like Lestrade!”

Mycroft grimaced wondering how obvious he had been, trying to keep the blush that was threatening, he straightened and headed toward his rooms. “Stop being a nuisance or else! And do let yourself our Sherlock. And lock the door!” 

The threat would have been better if he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away from his brother that he tripped over Gladstone and launched himself into the nearest coat rack. Turning beet red when Greg came out to see if he was alright, smelling of clean soap and warm water.

The tip of the ice-burg to his titanic moment had to be his father staring at him, a huge grin on his face. Icy blue eye’s sparkling with mirth as he watched his son try and disentangle himself from the coat rack in order to escape hearing the old man chortle before saying “Don’t worry lad, did something similar when I first met your mother.”

Maybe seeing his dad like this had been worth his dignity after all. If only he hadn’t said it in front of Greg. Who looked non the wiser.thank god!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase you are wondering, I KIND OF imagine Siger to look like this...maybe older. Yes I know who this is, just dont want to mess with anyone elses mental image if I can help it.
> 
> http://images.starpulse.com/news/bloggers/10/blog_images/house.jpg


End file.
